Febrile (In)Fidelity
by MandalaMarigold
Summary: While sick with the Spanish Flu, memories arise for Cora during a series of fevered dreams. Her illness forces Robert to evaluate his choices and life with his wife. Glimpses of (my take on) pre-cannon Cobert.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This fiction has been on the docket for a while. I keep tinkering with it and continue to get nowhere (and by that I mean 18 pages of unrefined drabble). I'm hopeful that posting this first piece will keep me focused, rather than starting a story, within a story, within another story.

This one is focused on Cora and Roberts relationship as it pertains to season 2, episode 8. I've attempted to fill is the blanks within that episode (Cora out with the Spanish flu and Robert…..well, anyways), and created some of my own pre-cannon fair. I'm Just taking these characters out to play, everything and everyone belongs to the keepers and creators of the show. Rated T. Thanks for reading!

* * *

_The heat from her body was trapped under a mountain of blankets. Her discomfort was increasing by the second. Beads of sweat welled on her forehead and she could feel the dampness of her pillow on the back of her neck. She began to fidget. Using her legs she petulantly kicked at her covers and eventually they shifted off her body, allowing the intense heat to escape like a billow of steam, rising and dissipating into the room. Cora gently rolled on to her side, her bedclothes stuck to her skin. She wanted to cry out, but her throat was dry._

_Through the darkness she could hear the muted whisper of hushed voices. Her eyes snapped open. She paused, allowing time for her eyes to adjust, and slowly the darkness softened into shadows. Her attention was pulled to the murmured conversation that was coming from across the room. Two voices. One shadow._

_The candlelight flickered, casting a dim glow about the room. Cora watched as their silhouette danced on the wall. Her breathing had slowed and air moved into her lungs at an agonizing pace. She swallowed as silently as she could, knowing that she was not meant to bare witness to the exchange happening at her door. A soft, flirtatious giggle filled her with unease, and she watched as the hazed reflection on the wall separated to become 2 distinct figures. Cora recognized them both._

_A rustle of fabric indicated someone was moving towards her. Cora quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep to the best of her ability. She felt small hands pick up the blankets and shake them out over her body, the cool air helped to calm her buzzing skin._

_"Oh, my Dear," a sweet American voice soothed over her ear as cool, gentle fingers traced across her forehead. "Her fever is getting worse."_

_Cora felt a damp-cloth touch down on her face, and cool relief pushed away all thoughts and understanding of impropriety._

_His voice from the door held a tone of concern, "I'll fetch the doctor," a pause "….and her mother."_

_Cora was six._

* * *

"M'Lady?"

Cora left the dinning room as gracefully as she could, with minimal fuss. She took her time on the stairs, gripping the railing for support and pausing often to catch her breath. All of her strength had begun to seep away, and by the time she reached her bedroom she was drenched in sweat and her thoughts were becoming foggy. She made her way to the bed, and collapsed.

"M'Lady!"

O'Brien was standing at her bedside, practically shouting. "Lady Grantham!"

Cora stirred as O'Brien reached into her subconscious and pulled her from her dream. Grimacing she turned her head away from the volume of her maid's unease.

"Whatever's the matter, M'Lady?" O'Brien asked, genuine concern filled her voice.

Cora had been feeling unwell for much of the day. She attributed her headache and malaise to Sybil's recent declaration for the Chauffeur. She slept terribly the night before, a combination of her own unrelenting thoughts and Robert's fitful agitation beside her. She noticed the fever sometime before the gong.

She groaned as she sat up, reaching out to O'Brien for support. "I'm wretched, O'Brien."

"Should we," O'Brien started, however was cut off by her mistress.

"Dr. Clarkson is coming." Cora attempted to inhale deeply but air caught in her throat. A gasping pain filled her chest with the movement of her lungs. She winced. "I need to change, O'Brien. I'm terribly uncomfortable."

"Yes M'Lady," O'Brien moved around Cora, who had shifted to the edge of the bed. As she leaned in to her Ladyship, O'Brien's hands recoiled from the heat coming off Cora's body. She reached for the top button of Cora's dress, which was soaked through with perspiration.

As the cool air touched Cora's fevered skin goose bumps raced over her body. She shivered. O'Brien helped her Ladyship into a clean, dry nightgown, and then quickly back in to bed. Cora continued to shiver as her body fought to regulate itself. She closed her eyes with a heavy sigh.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Sorry for the delay. Just when you think you'll get on a breakaway with writing….life!

This one is focused on Cora and Roberts relationship as it pertains to season 2, episode 8. I've attempted to fill is the blanks within that episode (Cora out with the Spanish flu and Robert…well….anyways), and created some of my own pre-cannon fair. I'm Just taking these characters out to play, everything and everyone belongs to the keepers and creators of the show. Rated T. Enjoy.

* * *

_The winter had dragged on well in to the spring, leaving a chilled dampness throughout the house. Cora sat in a chair that she had pulled next to the fire, waiting. Listening. Her book was open in her lap giving off an impression that she was reading. In the hallway, outside her room her father was engaged in a flirtatious discourse that, she felt fairly certain, was tested and true. Cora's cheeks burned with embarrassment._

_She had just celebrated her 14th birthday and with that milestone came liberation. No longer under the care of the Governess she once shared with her brother; her parents had hired a Maid, a woman who performed the duties of both Lady's Maid and to a lesser degree Governess. Despite being told that her new maid was hired to support her as she transitioned to the next phase of her life, Cora suspected this shift was due in part to her mother's need to stay current and fashionable, and also her father's boredom with the current household staff._

_The fire cracked loudly, pulling her attention to the flames. The heat being emitted was making her uncomfortable, and she was considering moving away from the hearth when she heard his voice at the door. "Well, I'm glad to see you're settling in." Cora glanced over at her maid, Mrs. Hudson, and then shifted her focus to him. She could see how women were drawn to her father. He was tall and lean, with a strong build. He had kind, handsome features, a gentle approach and a way with words that even she found captivating. He was charming._

_Mrs. Hudson entered the room and proffered a casual, disinterested smile to her employer before turning to make her way across the room towards Cora. He watched her. Cora watched him._

_Cora knew about sex on a superficial level, enough to recognize it was her father's motive, however limitations in her understanding of intimacy often left her feeling terribly uncomfortable and filled with a sense of shame that she could not explain. In the end, after he had seduced them, they always left. Cora quickly dropped her head. She felt tears pricking at her eyes as her frustration reached the tips of her ears. Sweat pricked at her collar. Mrs. Hudson was a lovely woman, both inside and out, and Cora had taken to her instantly. She desperately wanted this one to stay. Across the room the door softly clicked shut._

_"What do you think of it so far?" Her maid asked as she approached, pointing at the book._

_Cora cleared her throat and shifted slightly._

_"Are you alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked with an edge of concern, responding to the change in Cora's complexion. "Do you feel unwell?"_

_"I'm just hot." Cora answered flatly, looking up slightly to see her maid wrapping her shall tighter around her shoulders._

_"Cora! It's freezing in here!" She crouched down in front of her, "what's wrong?"_

_Cora shrugged. At 14 she knew how to articulate herself better than she was._

_Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily. "You saw that?" She gestured her head over her shoulder, towards the door. "Didn't you?"_

_Cora didn't answer. Heat pricked at her skin making her vibrate with discomfort. She fidgeted in her chair._

_"Listen," her maid ducked her head, trying to catch Cora's eyes. "I have no intention of interfering in your parents marriage." Cora shifted and quickly glanced up, redness burned in her cheeks. _

_Mrs. Hudson continued. "Let's not pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about." There was a pause and Cora felt a gentle squeeze on her wrist. "His behaviour is his burden to carry. Not mine," her expression changed matter-of-factly, "And certainly not yours, My Lady."_

_Cora looked up at her maid quizzically. She had never been called "My Lady" before._

* * *

"My Lady." Dr. Clarkson's cold hand was wrapped around her wrist as he checked her pulse. "Lady Grantham." He spoke low, as not to startle her.

Cora groaned weakly before opening her eyes. "Dr. Clarkson." She attempted to smile.

"Good evening, Lady Grantham." He gently smiled back, and gestured that she stay flat on the bed. "You're quite fevered," he paused. "You need to rest."

Cora collapsed back on her pillow, closing her eyes heavily. "I feel so weak," she murmured.

"Anything else?" Dr. Clarkson asked, his eyes scanned Cora's body, performing a basic physical assessment.

She attempted a deep breath and squinted her eyes open. "My chest feels tight. My head is pounding." She placed her hand over her stomach. "It's all come on so suddenly. I feel as though I've been hit by a train." She punctuated her symptoms with a grimace.

Dr. Clarkson chuckled. "Well it isn't quite that bad My Lady, I suspect you have the flu." He paused, "most likely Spanish Flu." He continued to speak as Cora closed her eyes. "It will take some time for your symptoms to play out, before I can confirm a diagnosis." He paused, wondering if she was still listening. "It could get worse, before you feel better."

Without opening her eyes, Cora lifted her cheek into a half smile and stated flatly, "Wonderful."

Clarkson chuckled again, "you've got a solid team of nurses here to see you through it." And with that he turned to O'Brien who was awaiting an order. "Will you have Mrs. Patmore prepare some cinnamon in milk for her Ladyship."

"Yes, Doctor." O'Brien nodded obediently.

"And do what you can to keep her cool and comfortable. Cold cloths. Dry linens." He paused to consider, "and offer her some Beecham's powders if she tolerates the milk."

"Yes, Doctor." O'Brien nodded again, grateful for the tasks.

He looked from Lady Grantham to Mrs. Hughes and gave a quick, perfunctory nod.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: This one is focused on Cora and Roberts relationship as it pertains to season 2, episode 8. I've attempted to fill is the blanks within that episode (Cora out with the Spanish flu and Robert…well….anyways), and created some of my own pre-cannon fair. I'm Just taking these characters out to play, everything and everyone belongs to the keepers and creators of the show. Rated T. As always, thank you so much for the feedback! Enjoy.

* * *

Cora rolled towards the door, and the sound of Robert's muffled conversation with Dr. Clarkson. She blinked heavily. Her body was beginning to ache with fever, and she wanted nothing more than to be comforted by her husband. She strained to hear his voice as it dissipated down the hallway, growing more distant with each step he took. From somewhere deep within her subconscious arose the knowledge that he would not be returning.

Years of silently observing her father pay attention to those who were paid to be attentive had gifted Cora with a powerful intuition. Usually she noticed subtle changes in character, seeing through false pretense and feigned disinterest. Except earlier, in the dinning room, she was far too preoccupied with minimizing her own distress that she missed the subtleties of indiscretion. Now, within her clouded sensorium, she was gaining perspective and things were slowly sliding in to focus. Her eyes burned as she looked to the door. Surrendering to his absence, she let out a heavy sob.

Jane.

* * *

Things between them had been disappointing for some time. Cora was sympathetic to his idleness for she understood it, perhaps better than anyone, but she could easily recognize his ongoing identity crisis for what it was. Now, nothing she said or did was right; if she agreed with him she was wrong, if she countered him she was insulting, if she stayed silent he only pushed harder for a reaction. It was an exhausting battle that she continued to lose, and although they never argued to the point of regret, lately Robert's derision had become wounding and perilously close to unforgivable. His disposition had become severe after Sybil announced her intentions the previous evening. Cora had purposefully disengaged from him throughout the day, not only to give him space and a chance to take in the situation, but also to bolster her immunity to his brooding disdain. It did little good. As he paced around her bedroom before dinner it was apparent, his irritability was boiling just below the surface and her attempt at conversation ended with insult as he walked away from her for "turning American". Frustration flooded her. Using her heritage against her, to highlight their differences had become Cora's Achilles' heel, and when brought up it always made her feel less than. Their perceived disparity was something she had worked very hard to overcome their entire life together, and now it was being fired at her like a weapon. It was disheartening.

* * *

"Here you are, M'Lady". O'Brien stood at the bedside offering Cora a glass of milk.

Cora slowly rolled on to her back and opened her wet eyes to look up at O'Brien.

"There, there M'Lady," she set the glass down on the bedside table. Mistaking Cora's tears for physical discomfort. She reached forward to help her Ladyship sit up. With Cora propped on her elbow O'Brien retrieved the glass and handed it to her, "this should help."

Cora smelled the cinnamon and grimaced. She inhaled deeply, clearing her sinuses and snuffing out her remaining tears. She lifted the glass and drained its contents as quickly as possible. Cora handed the glass back to O'Brien before collapsing back on to her pillow.

O'Brien fussed with the covers and then wiped at Cora's face with a damp cloth. "Are you comfortable M'Lady?"

"Yes," her eyes too heavy to focus on her maid. "Thank you, O'Brien."

Cora's thoughts were slowing as her malaise pushed her towards sleep. Her tired mind attempted to sift through all the things she had missed: the times when his mood had lifted, the times when he was unjustly hostile. Cora sighed as O'Brien's damp cloth touched down on her cheek, smothering her climbing temperature. Had she been so focused on nourishing her own autonomy, that she unknowingly made allowances to pacify his? As O'Brien lifted the cloth from her skin heat flooded to the surface, and Cora turned her head in protest. Protesting the truth. Protesting her fever. Protesting sleep as it overtook her. Cora's final thoughts before succumbing were of her mother, and the countless signs that she had missed.

* * *

_Martha Levinson lived a life of lavish and wealth, and little else. Her husband, a smart and handsome businessman, full of charm and magnetism, was more a live-in companion than a partner in marriage. Rumors of his adulterous ways had been socially limiting for her, and other than a small circle of friends uncorrupted by her husband's advances, she had her children. Martha vowed to advance Cora to a level of social notoriety she felt her daughter deserved, and when she caught wind of American heiresses moving abroad for marriage, securing position and title to match their wealth she jumped, the idea was far too opportunistic to pass._

_After a month-long power struggle Cora finally submitted to her mother's request. She agreed to travel to England for one year, sacrificing her home, her life, and her comfort for a world her mother knew very little of, and would never come to understand. Martha's overbearing attempt at steering Cora's life filled her daughter with resentment, and cast a dark shadow over Cora's willingness to find a husband. However, in the end they booked their crossing and made all the necessary arrangements to arrive in London for the 1888 season._

_Their trip to England took nearly 7-weeks, of which Cora did not know a moments peace. The subtle motion of the ship was unrelenting and she was overcome with nausea and a sense of disorientation that never left. The horizon refused to stay fixed in front of her, even when she was still she wasn't. Her inability to take control of her sickness was humiliating and despite Mrs. Hudson's best efforts Cora arrived in England weak and dehydrated. Day and night, Cora spent most of the journey lying on her bed, overcome by motion sickness; a never-ending sensation of floating while the room spun beneath her. Cold sweat erupted over her body and her jaw became heavy. Cora listened to her Maid's voice, prompting her to focus on her breathing. She squeezed her eyes closed, but nothing could stop the wave of nausea. She retched. "Sybil, I can't stop it."_

* * *

She vomited.

O'Brien was there with a basin and Sybil had towels. Both waited as more came. Cora leaned over the side of the bed, her muscles aching with tension as she heaved. Her equilibrium swayed.

"Well…" O'Brien stated flatly, "I'd say she didn't tolerate the milk."

"No." Sybil changed places with O'Brien, "definitely not."

Sybil moved in closer and gently wiped at her mother's face. "We'll hold the Beecham's for now," she stated calmly over her shoulder to O'Brien. "Be sure and tell Dr. Clarkson."

Cora rolled her head back on to her pillow, breathless from the exertion. "I'm sorry," she murmured as she was swept away by sleep.

"Don't apologize Mama," Sybil whispered before gently placing a fresh cloth on her forehead.

* * *

_Cora had been in England nearly 6-months the night she met the future Earl of Grantham, the man who would become her husband. The cold, dull, and drizzly climate forced the days to bleed together dispelling any fondness and creating little optimism for the country that she would eventually call home. At night the bright, beautiful ballrooms were a stark contrast to Cora's grey and gloomy days, and shockingly warm given their grand vastness. By the end of the night she often found herself fevered from the heat of the room. Her discomfort only made worse by the tightness of her corset, which was unnecessarily snug at the direction of her mother, to enhance her limited assets._

_Cora had made friends since arriving in England, many with stories that were similar to her own, most viewing their time abroad as a break from their 'New World' reality. That particular evening the party was well under way with the usual people in attendance, and the usual divide in the room. American women on the left, English on the right. Cora was talking with some friends, listening to an animated story when she began to sense an invisible weight bearing down on her. The hair on her arms stood. Casually she turned her head, moving her eyes to scan her periphery._

_Laughter pulled her back to the conversation. She smiled and tried to focus on the chatter in front of her, but her instinct was persistent and tickled the back of her neck, demanding her attention. Abruptly she turned her head, as though responding to someone calling her name. She perused the crowd of people, searching for the source of her discomposure. Finally she found him, amongst a group of boisterous young men, smiling. Gazing upon her with wonderment._

_Cora's eyes widened and she responded with an uncertain smile. Nervous she quickly looked away, embarrassed by his attention. She lifted her hand and pulled on her ear, hiding herself as a crimson blush intensified over her exposed skin. As subtly as she could manage, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye only to catch him awkwardly turning away, being caught a second time staring at her._

_Her heart fluttered. He truly was one of the most handsome men she'd laid eyes on since arriving in England._

_"Cora!" Her friend sounded concerned. "What ever's the matter?"_

_She cleared her throat and looked back in his direction. "Nothing." She muttered as she spotted him, his head turned away from her. With her cheeks ablaze it was her turn to smile._

_Cora felt his eyes on her the rest of the night. Nagging for her attention, begging her to search him out. She was intrigued; stunned by the laws of attraction and the way desire burned within her, without a single word being spoken. She found it difficult to dance with other men, knowing he was watching and she desperately hoped he would swoop in and steal her away for the next song. They watched each other move around the ballroom, stuck in conversations and mingling within their own social circles, but by the end of the night their game of cat and mouse had evolved in to nothing more. Frustrated by her impotence, she made the decision to leave with hopes of encountering him at the next party. After bidding her friends a goodnight she turned to leave and suddenly there he was, standing in front of her._

_"Good evening," he smiled. "I'm sorry to intrude, but had to come over and introduce myself."_

_"Hello," she smiled in return. The room began to feel exceedingly warm._

_"You're American!?" His expression turned quizzical, and Cora thought she sensed a flash of disappointment._

_"Yes," she noticed the heat behind her eyes as she studied his face. "And you are?"_

_He laughed. She grinned. Her skin was on fire._

_"I'm Robert Crawley, and you are…. lovely."_

* * *

O'Brien was by Cora's side throughout the night. Steadfast. She worked diligently to keep her Ladyship comfortable and settled, despite her writhing agitation and fevered distress. Cora slept fitfully, and by morning her breathing was becoming ragged.

Cora continued in a dreamlike state. As a way to cope with her illness her brain kept her surrounded in memories that held traces of her current reality. She dreamt of their fevered courtship, the intensity and the uncertainty, her desire and his motives, the confliction and the eagerness. The times she questioned his fidelity.


	4. Chapter 4

AN:This fic continues to take me forever to write…I'm motivated but have ongoing writers block. That being said…this chapter was never intended to be a part of this story, but as I binge watch the show in anticipation of the movie, I couldn't resist. I've wanted to write about it for a while. It does fit, for the most part.

This story focuses on Cora and Roberts relationship as it pertains to season 2, episode 8. I've attempted to fill is the blank within that episode (Cora out with the Spanish flu and Robert…well….anyways), using dreams and memories, and I've also created some of my own pre-cannon fair. I'm Just taking these characters out to play, everything and everyone belongs to the keepers and creators of the show.

Many thanks to those who have given feedback, I'm touched. Thank you!

Rated T (some medical-ish jargon). Enjoy.

* * *

O'Brien insisted on being the one to stay with Lady Grantham through the night, an act of contrition to make up for a sin that she knew would never truly be absolved. The windows were open and the dewy breeze felt cool, which was the overall intention, to help keep Her Ladyship comfortable by combating her intense fever through external measures. O'Brien shivered against the chill in the room as she sat at attention next to Her Ladyships bed, responding to every sound and every movement that Cora made. Close to dawn, after hours of fitful restlessness, Lady Grantham settled and sleep overpowered her. O'Brien, steadfast in her guilt, found her eyelids getting heavier with each blink, burning with relief each time they closed. She pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders, tucking in the warmth from her body. She sighed as she stretched her neck forward, releasing tension from her protesting muscles. As she lifted her chin she looked over at Her Ladyship breathing evenly, and still. O'Brien yawned as her eyes willfully closed.

* * *

_She could never remember which came first, the scream or the bang, but what she could recall was that moments before Cora fell she had a realization that she had gone too far. By the time she reached the door Her Ladyship was on the floor, lying on her side trying to catch her breath. Transfixed, O'Brien's eyes widened as they were instantly drawn to the bruise forming across Cora's abdomen. The angry red contusion delineated perfectly where Her Ladyship's body crashed down onto the side of the bathtub. Pigment was fading from her already pale skin only to be absorbed with raging intensity by the injury that spanned from Cora's ribs to her navel._

_They gasped in unison._

_"Your Ladyship!" O'Brien stepped in to the room and hurried to her mistresses side, gently slipping on the sudsy floor before she crouched down next to Cora. "M'Lady," she hesitated before reaching forward, placing her hand on Cora's back. "It'll be alright." She lowered herself to get a better look. "Did you hit you're head?"_

_Cora was choking on air that was trapped in her lungs, as she squeezed her eyes shut she subtly shook her head. The impact had sent Cora's diaphragm in to spasm, rendering her breathless. O'Brien frantically scanned the room and lunged across Lady Grantham. She retrieved a towel and haphazardly draped it over Cora's body. "I'll fetch some help M'Lady," she collected her skirt in her hands and stood. "Don't you worry." She swallowed, "I'll be right back." O'Brien's heart was racing as she backed out of the room, her own breathing becoming hysterical. She turned and ran for the bedroom door. "Help!" she had hollered as she moved. "Help! We need help!" She reached the bedroom door and pulled it open. "HELP!"_

_"O'Brien!" Cora called out weakly. "O'Brien help me, please!"_

_O'Brien hesitated at the bedroom door. Torn between returning to Her Ladyship, and leaving to find suitable help._

_"Please!" The fear and panic rising in Cora's voice pulled O'Brien back._

_O'Brien yelled for help one last time and then spun around, dashing back to Her Ladyship. Entering the bathroom the second time she was aghast by the scene before her. She blinked, unsure how she missed it the first time; blood. It had begun pooling beneath Cora, seeping on to the floor and soaking in to the towel she had fanned out only moments before._

_Cora's breathing was short and shallow. "Something's." She panted. "Wrong."_

_"My God in Heaven," O'Brien whispered under her breath. "I need to get some help M'Lady. I'll just be…" She trailed off as she ran to the bell and pulled the rope. She pulled once. Twice. A third time. Then ran back to her Ladyship. O'Brien moved quickly and dropped herself on the floor next to Lady Grantham, who appeared to be going in to shock. Her skin looked ashen, her lips were turning purple, and her breath hiccupped in to her lungs. "M'Lady!" O'Brien raised her voice, attempting to reach into Cora's consciousness. "Stay with me, M'Lady! Please." O'Brien's voice quavered, "I'm sorry."_

_"Ms. O'Brien?" Anna's voice could be heard in the bedroom, moving towards them and then a loud gasp. "Oh my God!" Anna entered the room and began scanning for ways to help. She pulled a towel off a chair as she moved, and then dropped down next to Her Ladyship. "We need to keep her warm, Ms. O'Brien."_

_There was another gasp, and then another as Gwen and Mrs. Hughes entered the room._

_"My God! What happened?" Mrs. Hughes appeared stunned as she took in the chaos before her. O'Brien opened her mouth to speak but her words failed. "Right, never mind that now." Mrs. Hughes stepped in to the room and began speaking with the authority needed to calm the frenzy. "Gwen, go and fetch more linens. Towels. Blankets; whatever you can find. And some warm water." Gwen hurried out the door. "We need the Doctor," Mrs. Hughes mused more to herself than the women in the room. "I'll fetch Mr. Carson and have him see to the doctor." She took a hurried step towards the door and stopped, "Should we" she paused, "Can we move her?"_

_"I'm not sure Mrs. Hughes, but we need help quickly." Anna looked down at the floor, "there's a lot of blood." She looked over to Ms. O'Brien who now sat shivering on the cold floor, holding Cora's icy, blood soaked hand._

_Cora's breathing eased, yet remained shallow as the initial shock subsided. O'Brien did her best to stay present and support Her Ladyship, swallowing all her guilt, and encouraging Cora to stay conscious and calm. After what seemed like an eternity Lord Grantham appeared at the door, "Good God!" He rushed in. "Cora! My darling!" Tormented, he looked over to O'Brien, "what happened?"_

_"I was out there." She stammered. "Getting her clothes ready." O'Brien stared out the door, to the fireplace._

_"Oh, my darling," Robert dropped to his knees beside her. "Hold on, Dr. Clarkson is on his way."_

* * *

_It was determined that Lady Grantham was having a miscarriage. The trauma to her abdomen had caused her placenta to rupture, instantly extinguishing any chance for the baby. Hope was almost lost for Her Ladyship, as she too nearly died from the significant amount of blood loss. Dr. Clarkson's assessment also revealed that she most likely had broken, or at least definitely bruised the lower ribs on her right side. By virtue of merciful necessity, Cora was heavily sedated to help ease her suffering, both physical and emotional. And in the days following she relied heavily on her Maid, who was consumed by self-loathing, to see her through the worst._

* * *

An act of karmic retribution, O'Brien knew the sound of Her Ladyship's guttural scream as Lord Grantham lifted her off the floor would haunt her until the day she died.

Her eyes snapped open.

Lady Grantham had become restless, her cheeks glowing and pink, and at some point while O'Brien dozed Cora's breathing had worsened and she had begun to wheeze. O'Brien stood and moved to the head of the bed. The last time she rang for help Her Ladyship was also in distress, the difference being that this time Lady Grantham's suffering was caused by an act of nature; the time before by an act of nurtured, gross malfeasance.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: This story focuses on Cora and Roberts relationship as it pertains to season 2, episode 8. I've attempted to fill is the blanks, using dreams and memories, within that episode(Cora out with the Spanish flu and Robert…well….anyways), and I've also created some of my own pre-cannon fair. Some of my timelines might be off a little, as well as my understanding of Edwardian culture, but i tried ;)

I struggle with Robert's personality - a lot. But here goes...

I'm Just taking these characters out to play, everything and everyone belongs to the keepers and creators of the show. Rated T. Enjoy.

* * *

Robert's life was quickly unraveling. The severity of Cora's condition hit him like a slap in the face. Her breathing was strained and as he listened to her gasps his own chest tightened with distress. Seeing her lying there, suffering and nearly unconscious filled Robert with unease. He knew he had overstepped the bounds of their marriage for far too long, and now it seemed as though karma had reached inside him and was gripping his heart in retribution. Sybil would hardly look at him. He silently watched as O'Brien place a wet cloth over Cora's forehead. She grimaced at the intrusion but quickly settled with relief.

A sense of futility washed over him. "I wont be far," he murmured to Sybil as turned to leave.

The accusation that laced his daughter's tone continued to sting. He replayed her words, 'Where were you?' as the door clicked shut behind him. He sighed as he struggled to determine which direction to turn. With growing solicitude he stalked away, heading down the corridor, taking the long way to his dressing room. He replayed her question again, analyzing it for hidden meaning, noting blame and despair. "What have I done?" He silently asked himself as he landed heavily on his bed. Robert looked down at the floor and placed his head in his hands. Cursing his recent disdain and betraying behaviour, he closed his eyes.

* * *

_Lady Grantham was rendered speechless, and her shocked expression turned comical as Robert caught her off guard, accepting a second invitation that week. Typically he was not interested in the glitz and glamour of the Season, and usually declined invitations with the ferocity of a petulant child. Overall he found London life to be uncomfortable and restricting, and instead he was drawn to the country where he enjoyed the hunt and the quiet parties that ensued. Robert was not naïve to his obligations of finding a wife, producing an heir, and nurturing Downton his whole life long; he simply preferred the thrill of stalking and hunting, and flirting with women his parents had already deemed unacceptable. A creature of habit, even in his early years, he favoured what he knew. However this year was his sister's debutante season so his compliance was expected, although his eagerness was not._

_He first spotted her, porcelain and statuesque at Rosamund's debutante ball. Her striking blue eyes were captivating. Robert didn't recognize her from any party he had ever attended, and when he enquired no one knew a thing. Hypnotized by the carefree manner in which she carried herself; he was intrigued. He positioned himself with a vantage point of the whole room, taking care not to make his observations obvious. He watched her, and eventually his curiosity got the better of him but before he had a chance to approach her, she was gone._

_Robert accepted the next invitation only to be disappointed. He accepted the next, and then the next after that. He was starting to lose his patience when finally he spotted her, standing amongst a group of unfamiliar women. Her hair was different, pulled up higher, showing off the length of her neck. He watched her again. Drawn to her earnest and contagious smile, Robert found himself smiling when she smiled._

_Robert settled himself amongst a clamorous group of friends who were laughing loudly and joking inappropriately. After staring at her for an indecent amount of time he noticed that her cheeks had slowly begun to flush. She appeared perplexed as her eyes scanned the crowd in front of her. She turned her head and moved her eyes purposefully, as though she were looking for someone. Pausing, she furrowed her brow. Then suddenly she turned quickly and looked directly at him. Caught off guard he stumbled out of his chair, and stood. Across the ballroom their eyes met momentarily, and then quickly they both looked away. He grinned to himself, knowing he had her attention._

_In spite of the mixed emotions he felt as he watched her pleasantly engaging with other men, Robert was enjoying himself. He lost track of her completely as they both got mixed up in the crowd on the dance floor. After excusing himself from a second turn with the very eligible Ms. Josephine Dowling, he began his pursuit. He spun around, eyes searching wildly, until finally there she was, watching him with a subtle, playful smile. The volume of their unspoken connection was deafening. A coy, half smile lifted Robert's cheek before she looked away, her attention beckoned by someone behind her._

_Finally Robert mustered the strength to go and introduce himself. When she spoke he instantly recognized what was so captivatingly different about her._

_"You're American," he stated bluntly, wincing at his rudeness._

_If she noticed his awkwardness he couldn't tell, which made her all the more fascinating. Before they could become more properly acquainted her Chaperone, whom he correctly assumed was her mother, whisked her away leaving him wanting, and wondering when the next ball would be._

* * *

He lifted his head and sighed. Remembering Cora that way only served to amplify his self-loathing. There was so much on his mind, so many ways in which his life was spinning out of control. Pushing himself upright, he deciding to distract his thoughts, and work usually helped to slow his racing mind. He entered the library unnoticed as two housemaids, laden with cleaning paraphernalia, made their way through the opposing door. His stomach dropped as he watched Jane pull the door closed behind her. Robert sighed heavily as he dropped himself into his chair. Settling his elbows on his desk, he looked at the window that was covered with foggy perspiration.

Robert often spoke of his life before the war with pride. He found great value and purpose in his self-identified role as caretaker of Downton, he felt importance as a father, contentment as a husband, and self worth in serving his King and Country. Yet recent years had loosened his grip on his values, the very things he equated with happiness. His newest role with the British Army made him feel ridiculous and redundant. His daughters had matured and become independent, autonomous women who needed very little from him. And then there was Cora, self-reliant and flourishing, making her less reliant and arguably less attentive. The natural result of these intrusive life changes was wallowing self-pity.

* * *

_It was her eyes that he noticed first, not just the colour but also the softness and acceptance that was undeniably familiar. Whenever they spoke Robert felt understood, as he was drawn to her through a perception that the casualties of war had altered both of their lives. In the weeks after Jane's arrival things continued to strain for him and his wife. Robert was easily provoked and equally aggressive, when it suited him. He began spending more and more time alone, and found himself looking forward to interactions with Downton's newest housemaid. Robert showed an interest and offered support for her son, and in return Jane stroked his ego, restoring his need to be needed. He did, of course, recognized the similarities between the maid and his wife, he would have been naïve not to, but there were differences too, and the biggest difference was interest. Jane was interested._

_As quickly as striking a match, a flame was ignited within him. It happened the moment their hands touched, as they fumbled over apples in the laneway. Robert recognized the burn of desire, which he savored and used to subdue the pain caused by neglect. Lashing out at Cora was no longer effective at pacifying his despondency. Jane's mournful presence was the only thing that seemed to ease his smoldering temperament, and that afternoon when he came across her in the dinning room, the raging fire within him was blinding to the point of reckless impulsivity. He grasped her face and pulled her close, pushing his lips on to hers. He kissed her hard, and although surprised, she welcomed his forcefulness._

_That night, the first in a long while, he slept next to his wife, peacefully dreaming of a life of value._

* * *

Robert fingertips pressed into his burning lips, censuring his infidelity. He cursed his attraction for Jane and his reproachful lack of self-control. There was so much at stake as a result of his indiscretion. He looked up at the ceiling as tears filled his eyes. Losing Cora now, after pushing her away would be unbearable. What he wouldn't give to see her look at him with admiration, and longing in her eyes; to spend time with her like before; to kiss her.

* * *

_It was a small house party hosted by the Lord and Lady Willoughby, close friends and distant relations of Lord Grantham's. The Willoughby's were open-minded people and preferred a younger party. They welcomed the chance to meet new friends, including some of the more prosperous American women who would make handsome matches for any one of their three eligible sons. Robert and Cora, he now knew her name, had played their flirtatious game of 'cat and mouse' at many social gatherings since their first encounter, yet this was the first time they had been in each other's company at a smaller, more intimate engagement._

_Robert watched her intently through dinner, talking easily with those next to her, smiling and laughing, attracting attention from many of the single men in attendance. However, when she looked across the table at him, he felt like the only man in the room, and something inside him stirred. The men entered the sitting room, opting to join the ladies earlier than usual. It took him a moment, but he found her settled in a chair at the back of the room, alone. Observing._

_"This is overwhelming" she stated matter-of-factly, as she lifted herself out of her chair to stand next to him._

_"Why do you say that?" He looked into her eyes, trying to figure her out._

_Cora gently shrugged her shoulders and looked out over the group of people that were scattered about the room, deep in their own conversations. "It's easy to get lost in a ballroom." She looked back at him, "to blend in." She sighed and smiled at him sheepishly, "Never mind me," her grin deepened "I'm being foolish."_

_Robert lifted his eyes and scanned the room. Not one person was watching them; it was as though the universe was prompting him to risk impertinence. Before Cora could change the subject he leaned in and kissed her. Their lips connected and she was silenced. Cora's eyes widened in surprise and he started to pull away. She reached forward and stopped him, lacing her fingers around his. Their clasped hands fell between them like an anchor, pulling their bodies closer together. Without hesitation Cora pushed her lips in to his, returning his affection with fervor. After a moment of relishing in their first taste of intimacy, he pulled away and nervously glanced around, fearful of being caught. When he looked back at her, she was smiling warmly. Her expressive face was flushed and her eyes filled with emotion that made him feel like he was more than his circumstances; he felt wanted. He felt needed._

* * *

He let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, and under his breath he cursed gruffly. "Damn it!"


	6. Chapter 6

AN: This story focuses on Cora and Roberts relationship as it pertains to season 2, episode 8. I've attempted to fill is the blanks, using dreams and memories, within that episode(Cora out with the Spanish flu and Robert…well….anyways), and I've also created some of my own pre-cannon fair. Some of my timelines might be off a little, as well as my understanding of Edwardian culture, but i tried ;)

I'm Just taking these characters out to play, everything and everyone belongs to the keepers and creators of the show. Rated M. Enjoy.

* * *

The pressure in her head was deafening. Blood crashed through her pulsing veins, keeping time with the heavy pounding of her heart, as it thundered in her chest and echoed through her ears. She gasped for air. Her fists clutched at the bedding beside her, knotting the linen around her fingers. She arched her back, straining. Cora's body was on fire. Budding perspiration laced her skin and made it glisten in the dim firelight. Her senses heightened by raptures bliss.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on calming herself, their prolonged abstinence slowed her recovery. She inhaled raggedly as his lips moved on her neck, her skin responded with a thrill and she shivered. The weight of his body anchored her; the heat was comforting. With her eyes still closed she smiled to herself, her aching needs pacified for the time being. It was so good to be home.

* * *

Their trip had been planned for several months and was almost cancelled when the unexpected yielded the expected. Robert's father died suddenly of a heart attack, and as succession would have it, the ranks of nobility were passed down the line. Cora anticipated the transition would be a difficult one, especially for Violet who had always had trouble coming to terms with her American daughter-in-law usurping her authority. Now the widowed Lady Grantham had become bitter and spiteful, and reminded Cora of the woman she faced in the early years of her marriage, rekindling strife's that she and Violet had finally started to overcome.

Albeit unorthodox, Robert insisted that they continue with their travel arrangements, taking their daughters abroad for a long overdue visit to see Cora's mother and brother. After some forthright conversation it was decided that the Crawley's would travel to North America, with a single caveat, Robert would be staying in England. During his family's absence Robert hoped to settle in as the newly entitled Lord of Grantham and planned to work with his mother, preparing her for Cora's return when she would officially move into her role as Countess of Grantham.

After a weeks-long voyage, they landed in New York and stayed in the city; a modern, fast paced, outrageous place that served the Levinson's exorbitant lifestyle. Cora was grateful for the reprieve, to be away from her mother-in-law's smoldering, however after only a few days she began to feel suffocated, the city was never quiet, the Levinson's new house was always boisterous and filled with activity, if it wasn't her mother or brother entertaining it was her daughters wretched and contentious behaviour. By the end of the first month Cora was worn out and wished that she had been more emphatic in her opinions about travelling without her husband. After 3 months away, weeks of finding herself helplessly stuck between her daughter's pugnaciousness and her mother's acrimonious personality, she was ready to return to England. When they boarded the ship for their journey home Cora felt mentally and physically exhausted, a combination that would affect her resilience for the raging waters.

* * *

_O'Brien held her post, helplessly watching over Lady Grantham as her condition slowly deteriorated. Cora's face glowed red as goosebumps chased the perspiration over her body. Her consciousness wavered, and subtle tremors had begun._

_Filled with unease O'Brien looked at the basin, it was nearly empty. She had used a significant amount of ice water since early that morning, and it wasn't even mid day. She reached forward and grabbed Cora's hand, which felt hot and clammy._

_With Cora's hand placed between her own, O'Brien bent forward in supplication._

* * *

Returning to England on a wave of motion sickness, assuming her role as Countess of Grantham, being thrust into managing a great house, and refereeing her daughter's contemptuous behaviours were all inundating tasks, yet Cora accepted these challenges without prejudice. What she was not prepared for was her maid, Taylor, coming to her room the morning after they arrived home with resignation in hand. Mrs. Hughes and a senior housemaid also joined them. Cora felt outnumbered and overwhelmed.

"My mother is very sick," Taylor stated softly. "Her symptoms came on suddenly while we were away." The maid swallowed thickly.

Cora's eyes bounced sadly between the three women standing in her room, noting the emotional contrast between them. "Do they know what's wrong?" Cora asked cautiously.

Taylor sniffed. "Cancer," she whispered.

Cora ducked her chin, the memory of losing a parent to cancer flooded her. "I am sorry," her voice trembled slightly. The housemaid watched Cora closely, bemused by her empathy.

"Of course, you must go." Cora moved to get out of bed and wavered, a combination of dizziness and an intimate ache deep within her muscles.

All three women reacted.

Taylor was first, and had her arms outstretched, offering the sleeves of her robe to her Ladyship. Cora stood and stepped into her dressing gown. Mrs. Hughes spoke while Taylor busied herself with Cora's breakfast tray. "I've asked Sarah to help you with whatever you need while we make arrangements for a new maid."

Silence filled the room as Cora processed what was happening. She turned to the Housekeeper, "Thank you." She nodded and smiled quickly at the Housemaid - a familiar face. "Will you please give us a minute."

"Of course, My Lady." The Housekeeper nodded and gestured that Sarah, the Housemaid, follow and together they promptly left the room.

After a few minutes Taylor came out of Lady Grantham's bedroom, drying her eyes with a handkerchief. She was surprised to find that Sarah was waiting.

"Mrs. Hughes instructed me to wait," Sarah stated matter-of-factly.

Taylor nodded, "she's gone back to bed." Then stepped aside making way for Lady Grantham's interim maid. "She's overwhelmed," Taylor continued "and unwell."

Sarah moved around the other woman, feigning ignorance.

Taylor sighed heavily as she grasped Sarah's arm. "Please be kind."

Sarah gave a peevish glance to the former Lady's maid as she pulled her arm free. She knocked briskly on the door and then pushed her way into her Ladyship's bedroom.

* * *

_O'Brien nearly ran Mr. Bates down as he stepped off the bottom step and she rounded the corner. He steadied her and offered to carry the bowl of ice back to Her Ladyship's bedroom._

_"You look worn out." He stated earnestly._

_She looked over at him, puzzled by his concern. "I am." She stated flatly. _

_Cautiously she handed over the ice and then slowly, and silently, they climbed the stairs._

_"Isn't there anyone else who can help?" He asked as they arrived at Lady Grantham's bedroom._

_"No," she pulled back the bowl. "And you'll do well to tell His Lordship that she's worse."_

_Mr. Bates opened his mouth to respond, but O'Brien cut him off before closing the door. "Much worse!"_

* * *

The days following Taylor's departure were difficult. Cora trusted Taylor implicitly, and now she was navigating the complexities of her life with a complete stranger. She felt alone and isolated by her predicament. Despite Robert's excitement to have his family home, he offered little support. He seemed distant and distracted, which Cora rationalized as part of his own transition, seeing as he had begun taking on a more active role in managing the estate.

When Sarah first started coming to Lady Grantham's room, they worked silently. They watched one another, working at first from non-verbal cues and gestures, and then slowly their conversations began to evolve on a superficial level. Initially they discussed Cora's preferences for things and Sarah's other work duties at the Abbey, and eventually they moved on to bigger, more gossipy things. Sarah shared everything that she wanted Lady Grantham to know about Downton and her staff. Cora listened attentively to Sarah's stories, finding herself drawn in, compelled to ask questions, pulling more information from her stand-in maid. One of the most frequent topics was the staffing challenges, namely Taylor leaving followed by the dismissal of an attractive junior housemaid. And then there was the recent acquisition of a young footman, Thomas Barrow who clearly intrigued Sarah, and Cora by association.

* * *

Cora sat at her dressing table lost in thought. They had been home for nearly a fortnight, and she could not recall the last substantial conversation that she'd had with Robert. He was frequently late to meals; he came to bed after she was asleep and was gone before she awoke, and sadly there was no intimacy. She considered a number of possibilities; however, her perceptions were influenced by years of observing her father's behaviour. She felt unsure. She felt vulnerable. She felt…

O'Brien knocked sharply and entered without waiting for a response. Startling Cora and pulling her from her thoughts.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting M'Lady." She stated flatly.

Cora looked up and smiled, starting to feel more at ease with her interim Maid. "It's fine," she waved off the apology. "I know you're busy."

Sarah stopped at Cora's side. "Thank you," she said stifling an irritable sigh.

Cora stood, sensing Sarah's impatience to keep the evening moving. She swayed slightly, some lingering effects from her recent voyage. Sarah reacted, but Cora stopped her. "I'm fine," she closed her eyes swallowing down the knot in her throat. "I'm just…" Cora trailed off, raising her hand to rub her forehead. "I'm fine."

Sarah deliberated, taking a moment to carefully observed Her Ladyship. The stress of everything was weighing on her, it was clearly written over her tight features. "You look tired tonight, M'Lady."

Cora nodded and dropped back down into her chair. "I am." She let out an oppressed sigh, and after a moment she looked at Sarah, "this is a little bit more than what I'd bargained for." Cora dropped her shoulders, her hands falling into her lap. Stunned by her own admission.

"Things are coming together, M'Lady." Sarah said, biting back her irritation, annoyed by Lady Grantham's indulgence in self-pity. "I'm sure the Dowager didn't have it easy in her early days either." Genuinely smiling at the chance to stick it to her former employer while coddling her current. "I hear it took her a very long time to get the staff on her side."

Cora smiled up at Sarah. Her comfort with the housemaid growing she let out a single laugh, "Did she ever?"

For what it was, Sarah appreciated the banter. "You're meeting with Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes tomorrow," Sarah went on. "From what I hear they are finding this transition to be an easy one. And a welcomed change."

"I think that speaks to my mother-in-law's running of the place," Cora stood again. "Not me."

Silence filled the room as Sarah began unfastening the back of Cora's dress.

Cora was looking down at her hands in front of her, "Can I ask?" She adjusted her wedding rings. "Why did that other housemaid lose her job?"

She felt Sarah's hands falter on her back, and then resume at a quicker pace. "I don't know the reasoning, exactly, other than Mrs. Hughes said that she wasn't suited for a position in a house like this."

Cora considered Sarah's response. "Do you agree?"

Sarah dropped her hands and stepped away from Cora, who shrugged her arms from her dress. The maid collected her Ladyships nightgown from the foot of the bed and handed it to her. Cora's dress fell to the floor, she stepped forward and walked behind the screen to finish dressing for bed.

After a moment Sarah answered, "she had lofty goals, M'Lady."

"How so?" Cora's voice arose from the corner of the room.

Sarah was uncertain how forthcoming she should be. She had been contriving a plan to work her way into the position of Lady's Maid, and Cora was making things almost too easy, however she decided it was best to stick with an open-ended version of the truth rather than embellishing things for effect. "There were rumors, M'Lady."

Cora stepped out from behind the screen. "What rumours?"

Her Ladyships expression was curious, one that Sarah had difficulty reading. The maid knew it would be impertinent to look away, which forced her brain to work quickly. Saying less had the chance to equal a great deal more. "I never saw anything inappropriate, M'Lady, but it was rumoured that she was very flirtatious with His Lordship."

To Sarah's surprise Cora did not give much by way of response. "And His Lordship?"

"I couldn't say, M'Lady." Sarah watched her mistress carefully, for any sort of reaction. "Once Mrs. Hughes became aware, she intervened."

Silently Cora moved to her dressing table. She handed Sarah her corset before sitting down. She swiveled in her chair to face the mirror. There was a pause as their eyes met in their reflection. Sarah moved in and began removing pins that were holding Her Ladyship's hair in place.

Cora did her best to appear apathetic but as her thoughts collided small reminders from her past immerged. There was a long period of silence before either of them spoke again.

It was Sarah.

"Have you had many responses to your enquiry?" She asked, hoping to create a natural segue to her primary goal.

"I have had a couple." Cora didn't meet Sarah's eyes, instead she kept her focus on her hands.

A pause.

"Anything promising?" Sarah asked, doing her best to sound hopeful.

Cora looked up, her indifference radiated. "I'll be honest, not really." She sighed. "They all seem a bit…old." She gave a half smile, "Mrs. Hughes is reviewing the responses to give me her opinion."

Sarah smiled at her Ladyship, "I'm sure Mrs. Hughes will be a great help." And she carried on brushing Cora's hair before casually continuing "whoever the candidate is they'll be lucky to get the job." An air of envy laced her voice.

The conversation dwindled and they finished their work in silence. Sarah bid Cora a good night and turned to leave. She was nearly out the room when Cora spoke. "Would you tell me?" Sarah stopped and turned towards Cora.

"Tell you what M'Lady?" The maid knew exactly what Cora was asking.

"If you knew anything," Cora hesitated. "If you heard Lord Grantham had behaved," she paused again, her voice faltering. "If he was…."

Sarah stepped back into the room, pushing the door closed to ensure their privacy. She cursed herself, wondering if she'd gone too far.

Cora looked up again, finding her voice. "If he was indecent?"

Silence filled the room as the two women watched one another.

"I've told you everything I know, M'Lady".

* * *

The following afternoon Mrs. Hughes asked Sarah to join her in her sitting room. Filled with reservation Mrs. Hughes informed Sarah that she had been promoted to Lady's Maid, at the request of Lady Grantham.

"She tells me you've been so good to her, Ms. O'Brien. So very good."


	7. Chapter 7

AN: This story focuses on Cora and Roberts relationship as it pertains to season 2, episode 8. I've attempted to fill is the blanks, using dreams and memories, within that episode(Cora out with the Spanish flu and Robert…well….anyways), and I've also created some of my own pre-cannon fair. Some of my timelines might be off a little, as well as my understanding of Edwardian culture, but i tried ;)

I'm Just taking these characters out to play, everything and everyone belongs to the keepers and creators of the show. Rated T. Enjoy.

* * *

O'Brien's assessment was correct, Her Ladyship was much worse; and after hours of sitting idly watching her mistress deteriorate, she jumped at the chance to fetch help, leaving Robert as Cora's guardian. Robert carefully settled back on their bed and exhaled slowly. He watched her with sagacious anticipation, wondering if she would roll towards him, reflexively fitting her body around his as she had done so many nights before. Robert waited, but other than the laboured movement of her chest, Cora remained still. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

* * *

_"When will you see Miss Levinson next?" His father asked before handing him a glass of whiskey._

_Robert accepted his drink and backed up to the nearest chair. "In a day or two, I suppose." He wrestled with his eagerness._

_"The season is coming to an end, son." George mused. "Have you come any closer to making a decision?"_

_"I haven't." Robert sighed before swallowing the first few drops of whiskey. "I'm not ready..." He hesitated before shrugging his shoulders. "It would be a mistake."_

_George nodded slowly._

_"And, mama would be furious." Robert added for effect._

_"If you'll please; leave your mother to me." George sat down across from his son and took a long drink, nearly draining his glass. "Explain to me why it feels like a mistake."_

_Robert slumped back into his chair, appearing more childlike than a man considering a wedding proposal._

_George looked into his glass with a sigh, Robert's petulance annoyed him, and he struggled to stow his irritation._

_In part he understood his son's hesitation. George envied the simplicity of Robert's life; a rising interest in the estate, the ability to pursue his interests as he desired, and female accompaniment at his disposal. Yet at 23-years old Robert had still maintained a life of uncommitted freedom despite his parents' urgings to find a wife._

_When George, the 6th Earl of Grantham, was introduced to The American Heiress, Miss Levinson, he was taken aback. She was smart and witty, and attractive to say the least, but what struck him most was that she made no attempts to impress or supress her true self; her authenticity is what he liked most about her. George could see what many could not, which was that Robert and Cora were perfect for one another, and that was before he learned of her dowry._

_"Do you care for her?" George asked finally, furrowing his brow._

_Robert looked at his father, "of course I do," he stated emphatically. "She's smart, she makes me laugh…" he paused, "she's pretty." He tilted his head back on the chair and looked up. "I enjoy spending time with her" he swallowed, "I just don't know if I want to spend all my time with her."_

_"Ah." George straightened in his chair._

_They sat in silence for a moment._

_"Well, it could be worse." His father surmised, attempting to make light. "I mean, girls practically hang off young men these days, flirting. Think of your mate Phillip, that one he goes around with." His father raised his eyebrows in mock horror._

_Robert shifted his eyes to the ceiling and grinned. "I wonder if perhaps I'm better suited to a lifelong bachelorhood."_

_George stood and spoke with a sternness he reserved for times of authority. "Robert! I cannot stress this upon you enough, that is not an option." He moved to pour himself another dram of whiskey, "so, for the last time, put it out of your head."_

_There was another long moment of silence as George moved back to his chair. He sat down heavily._

_Feeling provoked, Robert's tone was now somewhat aggressive. "She's American," he snapped. "We have so little in common, over time I'm sure we would be dreadfully bored with one another." He swallowed another gulp of whiskey._

_His father opened his mouth to respond, but Robert continued._

_"And what about her motives?" Robert shifted in his seat. "Why else would she be interested in marriage, other than to become a countess one day?"_

_George gave a half-hearted smile, "you're grasping…"_

_Robert knew it, but blazed on with his final point and stated matter-of-factly, "I don't love her."_

_George opened his mouth to state his rebuttal._

_"Don't love whom?" Violet's voice broadcast into the room from the door. Robert and George both jumped out of their chairs._

_His mother took a step in to the room. "Who don't you love?" She unconsciously put her hand over her heart._

_"Violet!" George smiled tightly, "Robert and I were just discussing his marriage options," his tone of voice requested that his wife disengage._

_"Not that American!?" Violet instantly connected the dots, her voice rising an octave. "You can't!" Moving her hand from her chest she lifted it to the space in front of her husband, deflecting any action he might take, her full attention focused on Robert._

_Robert and his father both responded, their voices overlapping. "Violet!" "Mama!"_

_"I forbid it!" She stammered, "I will not have an American daughter-in-law." Her face reddened, "I will not hand over my title to an American."_

_George's voice resonated, filling the library. "ENOUGH!"_

_Robert shrank; however, Violet was unintimidated._

_"Miss Levinson is a lovely girl," he spoke sternly. "And while he may not love her…yet, she has captured Robert's attention." His voice softened. "The reality is, and I've put a great deal of thought into this," he sighed. "Her wealth, provided the details are accurate, could help support Downton for many, many years to come." It was George's turn to use his hand, which he held up to silence Violet who already had a retort on the tip of her tongue. "The way I see it, we need her." He looked at Robert again, "we need her to agree to marry you."_

_Violet scoffed. "George, please! Think of his future."_

_"I am," His father murmured._

_Robert dropped himself back down into his chair, dispirited by the notion of needing anyone._

* * *

The line between need and want had been blurred long ago, needing Cora and wanting her had become synonymous. That is until the war, when things slowly started to unravel, and the balance in his life had been tipped. Lately, everything in his mind was scattered, and he struggled to think clearly on any matter. The way he saw it, the war had not only trampled his ego, but it obscured his relationship with his wife. Robert felt stagnated while he watched her flourish, and when the war ended, he was left with a sense of estranged deprivation. Now he was stuck in a cloud of resentment and he struggled to see the light.

He had been on a downward spiral of self-pity when Jane arrived at Downton. Not long after, he found himself drawn in by her kindness, and over time he began to rely on her thoughtful and responsive nature to lift his spirits. Effectively, he had been seduced by her attention, and when she offered herself, he shamelessly planned to use her to pull him from his despondency. "Thank God for Bates and his wake-up call," Robert thought to himself, although he couldn't help but wonder if he had walked away in time.

His face flushed with thoughts of impropriety.

Feeling uneasy, he looked around the room. Their intimate space that had once bloomed with peace and devotion had now been taken over by betrayal and chaos. Robert swallowed thickly as his breathing shallowed. He shifted and the movement of the mattress nudged at Cora's arm, and her hand fell open between them. His eyes trailed down the deep blue lines on her forearm to the grey hue of her hand, and landed on the glow of her wedding band. With each beat of his guilty heart the gold blazed brighter. Cora had been the target of his bitterness for far too long.

Dazed he watch a bead of sweat roll across her blazon cheek and over her jaw, then slide down her neck and slip into a pool of sweat at the base of her throat. His gaze widened and he noticed the redness of her skin, the perspiration that laced her forehead and glazed her eyelashes. He paused for a moment to watch her before shifting his attention back to the space between them, back to her hand, to her thin fingers, her gold band; slowly he reached forward, and as his fingertips slid over her palm, she responded unconsciously, reflexively fitting her fingers around his, as she had done so many times before.

* * *

_"There is no pleasing you." Robert was taken aback by the irritation in Cora's voice. "Why must you find fault in everything?"_

_He could only hear his future mother-in-law, as the fabric of her dress rustled in response. "I'm just not sure you're making the right decision." Martha's voice was arrogantly nonchalant._

_"Mother!" Cora's face turned from pale to bright pink in a blink. "I am here because of you."_

_Robert straightened. He had been in the library for nearly twenty minutes, hiding from the scrutiny of his family before Cora and her mother walked in, hissing at one other._

_"Did you not think this through? Is this not what you wanted? Nobility? A lift in your social esteem?" Cora's questions overlapped. Her tone was laced with impertinence._

_A half smile lifted his cheek. Cora had a sharp tongue when she wanted to. He was impressed and intrigued, there was more to her story than he had ever considered._

_"What I want!" Martha snapped, "is for your inheritance to remain intact."_

_He glanced around nervously, ensuring his concealment._

_Cora threw her arms up in exasperation. "I can't go through this all again. I won't!" She pointed at the floor in front of her, "this is what I want, Mother." She sighed heavily, "I want to be with Robert." Her words were endearing, which he found oddly reassuring._

_"This is what you want?" Martha countered sarcastically._

_Robert furrowed his brow in response to her aggression._

_"Yes." Cora answered simply._

_He watched Cora, noticing that she blinked more frequently when she was uncomfortable._

_"Do you know where he was before dinner?" Martha demanded._

_Cora's expression puzzled. Although half a foot taller than her mother, she appeared to shrink at the question._

_"While you were in the drawing room, being…" Martha paused to choose her words. "Berated by that woman."_

_"Mother, please." Cora softly interjected._

_"He was on the stairs...with a maid." _

_Robert swallowed audibly. He watched Cora's eyes widened slightly before she looked away. Robert contemplated speaking up. To explain._

_"I know what you're thinking…" Cora started, looking back to her mother._

_"I think that you're making a mistake!" Martha's voice raised an octave._

_"Oh, Mother!" Cora rolled her eyes._

_"My dear, have you considered his motives?" Martha shifted and Robert could now see her, and her emphatic expression. "You are positioned to become a very wealthy woman and this estate needs money."_

_Robert's heart started to race as he watched Martha reach out and clasp Cora's hand, "and I question his fidelity."_

_"What?" Cora looked genuinely hurt._

_He watched the muscles in Cora's arm twitch as she attempted to pull away from her mother's grasp._

_Martha squeezed Cora's hand pulling her closer. "I've known men like him, Cora."_

_"I.." Cora pulled her hand free._

_"Handsome. Charismatic." Martha's hand rolled over itself in the air, "persuasive."_

_Robert watched Cora's lips move, but could not make out a single word of what she said._

_Martha gasped. "What did you just say?"_

_Cora swallowed before speaking firmly. "Robert is nothing like daddy."_

_It was Martha's turn to flush. It was clear to Robert that Cora had disarmed her mother._

_Martha stammered, "you…you don't know…"_

_"I know more than you think Mother," Cora paused, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides. "I am sorry for your unhappiness," her voice was strong, a vain attempt at masking the uncertainty in her eyes, "but I resent the implication that Robert would…"_

_The sound of it was stunning. Their eyes widened in unison. He watched Cora, his mouth agape. The skin on her cheek blanched. Martha's hand suspended in the space between them._

_Cora lifted her hand to her mouth, touching the corner of her lip. She casually looked down at the smear of blood on the tip of her finger._

_Instinctively Robert wanted to go to Cora, to intervene, but he knew that doing so would give away his intrusion. He watched Martha's shoulders rising and falling in time with her raged breathing._

_"Mother, I love him." Cora's voice was soft, but firm. "And I will marry him on Sunday."_

_"Cora…I…" Martha sounded weak. "I'm sorry."_

_"Please be happy for me." Cora whispered, ignoring her mother's apology._

_Robert swallowed past the discomfort that was building in his throat. It was rare that Cora revealed her emotions, a trait that set her apart from her American counterparts. Tears slowly flooded her eyes, and she blinked carefully to restrain them. He __watched as she took a step back, away from her mother._

_She gently placed her hand over her injured cheek and stated softly, "I'll say goodnight."_

_Martha held up her hands to stop Cora, offering a truce, an apology? But when Cora didn't stop, Martha simply whispered, "good night" before letting out a defeated sigh._

_From somewhere in the distance Robert heard a muffled cough, and he pushed himself deeper into the dark corner._

* * *

Beside him Cora coughed.

Her body ricocheted with the force expelled from her chest. Her face contorted with pain as she gasped for air. She clutched at the blankets, unconsciously gaining leverage she squeezed her fists tighter with each cough. Robert quickly moved off the bed and around to her side. "Cora!" He called to her, hoping to reassure her, but she couldn't respond.

Eventually her coughing fit subsided and she was left gasping for air. Robert watched as she slowly settled, and her breathing raggedly evened out. He spotted it when she turned her head, a small spot of bright red blood on her lip.


End file.
